


I'd Churn Your Butter Ma'am

by DarylDixonGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal, Bets, College AU, Daryl in a dress, I don't have an excuse for this, Jealous Shane, M/M, Object Insertion, Rimming, bottom!daryl, boyfriends rickyl, only it's not a sexy dress, roommates rickyl, top!rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 12:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10491204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylDixonGrimes/pseuds/DarylDixonGrimes
Summary: Daryl loses a bet to Shane and has to wear a dress, only it's not quite the dress he expects Shane to force him into. Rick is turned on anyway though, prompting a romp in their dorm room with a side of vengeance for Rick's jealous bestie.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffindoors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffindoors/gifts).



> This basically grew out of a joke in a small Rickyl group chat with some friends and snowballed. Enjoy it anyway.

When Daryl made the bet, he never expected this to be the dress Walsh would show up to his dorm with. There had been tension between the two young men all semester, ever since Shane transferred in from some community college and put pressure on the relationship Daryl had spent two years forming with Rick Grimes.

Rick had done his best to diffuse the tension, stepping in whenever their snipes and jabs threatened to turn physical. And Daryl had tried to be good, he really had. After all, he wanted his boyfriend’s childhood best friend to like him.

But Shane kept putting the pressure on at every turn, digging into Daryl’s every insecurity whenever he had the chance. It started with subtle comments about how Rick had once confessed to having a crush on him, how Shane used to catch him staring at him across the biology lab or how he’d always known Rick was the one who sent him the chocolates that one year on Valentine’s Day even though Shanice Wright had gotten the credit and the kiss under the bleachers.

Daryl thought it had been unintentional at first, but the more Shane did it, the more he couldn’t help but feel that the other man was trying to drive a wedge between him and Rick. And it irritated Daryl to no end. He had worked hard for Rick Grimes, and Rick Grimes had worked hard for him in return. It was a mutual respect born of admiration and comfort and sex so heated and frenzied that Daryl was surprised they didn’t bring down the residence hall every time they went at it in a Twin XL. They fucking belonged together.

The bet in question came one day over lunch in the dining hall as another should-have-been-casual conversation devolved into heated growls exchanged over mediocre pizza.

“You always do this shit,” Daryl said.

“It just bothers you that he liked me first,” Shane said, smirking and picking an olive off his pizza. He flicked it in Daryl’s general direction.

Next to him, his physics book open as he crammed for an exam that afternoon, Rick sighed.

“Guys.”

Daryl bit back his bubbling rage. Or tried to anyway, moving his leg over to press his thigh against Rick’s under the table. Rick pushed back, doing his best to quell the tension without having to look up and risk sacrificing his GPA.

But Shane could never let anything go, picking and picking and _picking_ , digging away at every scab Daryl’s fragile ego had. It went downhill quickly, until Rick’s steady chant of, “guys” was lost in the exchange.

“And what do you know about racin, you fuckin redneck?”

“Guys,” Rick said, clearly exasperated.

“Could smoke your ass, Walsh.”

“Prove it.”

“Name a time and place, asshole,” Daryl said.

“Guys.”

“Let’s make it interesting.” Shane picked up a fry and dipped it in ranch dressing. No, dipped wasn’t a strong enough word. He shoved it in, the entire motion dripping with an overabundance of cockiness.

“Fine,” Daryl said. “If I win, you stop doing this shit, and don’t act like you don’t know what shit I mean.”

“And if I win,” Shane paused, tearing half the fry off with his teeth and swallowing it with barely a chew, “you wear a dress. Deal?”

Rick looked up from his textbook.

Daryl hesitated. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d tried his mother’s on once or twice as a kid just for kicks. Luckily she’d caught him and made him change before his father saw. He shuddered to think of how that would have ended up. He’d also worn one alone for Rick once, a little black number that ended right before his ass did, the bottom of each globe peeking out from underneath him. It hadn’t fit even remotely right, bunching and refusing to stretch across the full expanse of his back to fasten. But Rick had loved it anyway, pushing it up his hips and ravishing him on his desk right on top of his engineering textbook. It still smelled faintly like sex if Daryl breathed deep enough.

“Wear it where?” Daryl asked. If it was anything like the last dress he’d had on, he couldn’t wear it in public without being arrested. Then again, none of this really mattered since there was no way in hell he was going to lose.

“You have to walk from your dorm to the other side of campus and back.”

“It has to cover everything important,” Daryl said. “Not that I still ain’t gonna smoke your ass.”

“Deal,” Shane said.

But Daryl did not, in fact, smoke his ass. He’d come close, close enough to see Rick waving his red bandanna around at the area they’d designated the finish line. But his motorcycle was a rusty piece of junk he had to fix at least once a month, and close as he came, he couldn’t stop it from puttering out at the worst possible moment, allowing Shane to whiz by him, laughing as he did.

The consolation sex from Rick had been incredible, a full night where they took advantage of the fact that they were both roommates and spry young men in their prime. After the third round, Daryl felt bad for the two people who inherited their room after they were gone. He hoped they didn’t think black lights were cool.

But consolation sex or not, he’d still lost, prompting Walsh to show up the next clutching a garment bag after posting on every available social media site that there was about to be one hell of a walk of shame for anyone who wanted to see it.

Daryl had run over a lot of possibilities as he waited to hold up his end of the deal. He thought there might be glitter or sequins or some other kind of sparkly bullshit. He thought he might get some monstrous old prom dress from the thrift store or something tight and slinky if a little longer than the one still tucked away in a box in his closet covered in questionable stains.

What he hadn’t expected was to unzip the bag and find something that looked like it crawled straight out of Little House on the Prairie. Daryl wasn’t sure how to describe the color of the main garment. It was purple...ish? It wasn’t a maroon or a burgundy, but a dull violet, like it had been vibrant once before it was left out in the sun or washed far too many times.

Around the waist was tied an off-white apron with ruffles at the edges. A little bouquet of blue and yellow flowers was embroidered on the bottom right corner. Daryl stared at it. Behind him, he could feel the burn of Rick’s eyes looking over his shoulder, and he wondered if the other man was at least a little disappointed that the bag didn’t contain something tighter and sexier.

“Are you serious?” Daryl asked, a tiny part of him actually relieved. It was still going to be embarrassing as hell to do it, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about anything falling out or getting expelled due to an unfortunate gust of wind.

“You made the bet, Dixon.” Shane pushed it into his hands and stepped around him into the room.

May as well get it over with, Daryl thought, taking the garment bag into the bathroom with him. It took about ten minutes of tugging and jumping and dancing around for him to get it on right, but he managed, tying the apron around his back when he was done. He looked in the mirror, squinting at the image. He supposed he’d looked worse.

Wishing he’d had the foresight to sneak a couple beers into the dorm, he opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Shane started laughing the second he passed through the threshold. Daryl’s cheeks warmed with simmering anger.

Until he looked at Rick, leaning casually against the wall with one foot tucked behind his other leg, the toe of his boot on the carpet. Daryl knew his boyfriend well, every childhood scar, every curve of every muscle and bone.

And he knew enough to know that Rick was simmering too, just in a different way.

“There’s no way you’re turned on by this,” Daryl said, narrowing his eyes at him. Shane’s laughter died instantly, and he whipped his head around to his best friend so fast that Daryl was surprised the stupid trucker hat he insisted on wearing every day didn’t go flying.

“Not exactly,” Rick said. “More you.”

“But me lookin like I’m about to set off on the damn Oregon Trail?” Daryl looked down at his body and the little ruffled apron. He couldn’t even see his ankles.

“I’d churn your butter, ma’am,” Rick said, curling his lips at Daryl in a way that made him even more glad the dress had a hell of a lot of coverage. He stepped closer, turning Daryl toward the mirrored doors of his closet. Palms slid from his rib cage down to his waist, tightly squeezing over the top of the apron. With a heavy breath in his ear, Rick slid his hands back up, curling them forward under Daryl’s armpits to loop over his shoulders from the front. And then Daryl understood.

It wasn’t the ridiculous getup. It was the fact that the style of the outfit highlighted the hell out of the waist-to-shoulders ratio that Rick had already said a million times drove him wild.

Maybe the pioneers were onto something.

“Hey lovebirds,” Shane said. “One of you still lost a bet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daryl said, letting Rick pull him backward, his back pressed tight against the other man’s chest. Lips brushed the nape of his neck before whispering quietly in his ear.

“Go out there and own the hell out of it, sweetheart.” Rick’s words were soft, so soft that Daryl had to strain to hear them even with his lips brushing against the shell of his ear. They were meant only for him.

“I will,” Daryl said, even as the blush started to creep back into his cheeks. He turned to Shane, glaring, and then smoothed out his skirt and marched toward the door. Rick stopped him by reaching out and putting his hand somewhere near the peep hole, pressing it back closed. He turned toward his best friend, the finger on his other hand forming a sharp point.

“When this is over, you’re going to learn to show the man I love some respect,” he said. Daryl’s chest tightened instantly, pride and affection twining together around the muscle and squeezing tight. “Don’t keep fucking with him just because you finally woke up and realized what we could’ve had.”

Rick leaned in one more time, another soft whisper.

“If you don’t wanna do this...”

“I know,” Daryl said. And Rick let him out in the hallway. There were already people leaning out of their rooms, tipped off by Shane’s social media storm. A smattering of applause met Daryl’s ears, and he almost turned around and walked right back into his room. Instead he looked at Rick, drawing strength from protective adoration swimming in his blue eyes. With a deep breath, he pulled his shoulders back, hiked up his skirt, and walked toward the elevator.

He knew Rick and Shane were following. He focused on Rick’s footsteps instead of the quiet giggles, the people calling his name, the artificial camera sounds on iPhones and Galaxies. He desperately wanted to reach back and take Rick’s hand. If he was walking _with_ him instead of near him, it would have been easier. But they’d decided making their relationship public might mean no more sharing a dorm room, so until they both moved off campus, it would have to be at least a little under wraps.

The walk to the tennis courts on the other side of campus seemed about three times as long as usual, though Daryl figured some of that was how much he was sweating in the dress. The fabric was heavy, and he found himself hiking the skirt up higher and higher as he went along just to get some kind of a breeze going.

Down the sidewalk they went, with Rick muttering encouragements the whole way. Somehow, the quiet words of his lover drowned out everyone else.

“You’re doing great,” Rick said. “And you look hot as hell.”

“Feel hot as hell,” Daryl said. “Sweatin my balls off under this thing.”

Shane was mercifully quiet the whole way, like Rick scolding him had taken all the joy out of the occasion. He hardly said a word unless a bystander said something to him first, and by the time they were back on the sidewalk outside the dorms, Daryl felt like he’d somehow won the day even if he was in a dress that made him look like the wife of a civil war soldier.

“Don’t recommend you come up, Shane,” Rick said, swiping his ID card at the door. Daryl fished his out of his bosom and ran it across the scanner.

“I gotta get that costume back,” Shane said.

“We’ll bring it to you at dinner,” Rick said firmly.

“When we’re done with it,” Daryl added, satisfied to be the one making Shane uncomfortable for a change.

“Listen guys,” Shane started, but Rick and Daryl were already walking across the lobby and past the security desk where Shane couldn’t follow.

Rick’s hands were on Daryl as soon as they were alone in the elevator, squeezing tight around his waist. Daryl leaned his head back, opening his neck up to the other man’s teeth and tongue, mming softly when Rick lathed over his Adam’s apple.

“I was gonna rip that thing off you,” Rick punctuated with a sloppy kiss somewhere on Daryl’s neck. “But now I’ve got my heart set on making it filthy.”

“Ain’t gonna argue with a little revenge.”

“I’m sorry,” Rick said, when the doors had opened, forcing them apart while they walked down the long hall toward their shared room. “I should have put an end to Shane’s bullshit sooner. I just figured it’d work itself out when he got used to you.”

“S’alright,” Daryl said. “Reckon it’s ended now.”

“I reckon so,” Rick said, fumbling with the lock on their door. It had been tricky the whole time they’d lived there, and Daryl’s heart beat a little faster with anticipation every time Rick jiggled the key.

“Oh come the fuck on.” Rick grunted, forcing the key in out of sheer will, and then he and Daryl stepped inside.

No matter how many times he and Rick fucked like frenzied animals on each of their desks, in the shower, bent over the ledge between their bathroom sinks; no matter how many nights they fell asleep spooning while they gently rolled their bodies into one another’s; no matter how many blow jobs, hand jobs, and mouthfuls of cum they shared, Daryl still got nervous right before things got physical beyond simple kisses.

“Sit on your desk,” Rick said, pressing his hand into Daryl’s chest to calm him. The hand moved delicately from the spot over his heart to his bicep, gently guiding him to the small piece of furniture. Daryl slid on top, kicking his chair back with his boot. Rick caught it with his own foot, sitting down in it and scooting up to his boyfriend like he was sitting down in a restaurant and Daryl was a four-course meal.

“I can’t believe you’re about to fuck me in this.” Daryl held up the apron with his fingertips before letting it drop back onto his lap.

“It’ll make a damn good story someday,” Rick said. “Lean back and spread ‘em.”

Daryl leaned back on his arms, pulling his feet up onto the desk and letting his knees fall apart. Rick pushed the skirt up onto his thighs, reaching underneath it for the waistband of his worn boxers. Shivering at the fingers tickling his hips, Daryl squirmed.

“Lift up,” Rick said, and Daryl pushed his ass up off the wood long enough for Rick to tug off his underwear.

Before Daryl could wonder what Rick had planned, he dove under the skirt, tongue skirting up one of his inner thighs. Remarkably, Daryl’s first thought was that it had to be hot for the other man to be buried under all that fabric. A thought that was quickly chased away by Rick’s tongue pressing firmly against his asshole.

That was new.

The archer’s initial reaction was to squirm away, and he had to fight to keep his whole body from twitching in response. Rick’s tongue undulated slowly, lapping across his puckered muscle with slow drawn-out licks. Fingers flitted up to Daryl’s hips, as high as they could go before the tightness of the apron stopped their climb, and then they stayed there, rubbing soothing circles on his flesh.

Daryl settled down instantly, leaning back and scooting forward to give Rick easier access. For a moment, the sensation stopped, and he heard an extremely muffled, “good boy” from somewhere below. Then the tongue was back, the tip circling clockwise around his entrance, then counter-clockwise, then clockwise again.

Daryl’s cock ached with every slow drag, every catch of muscle on muscle. And he longed for Rick to penetrate him, to take him, to own him.

Like he felt the waves of need flowing from Daryl’s body, Rick pressed the tip of his tongue against his boyfriend’s pucker, gently nudging at it and slipping inside.

“Jesus,” Daryl sighed out. And Rick took it as encouragement to keep pushing, spearing his hole with his tongue, pulling it out, and starting all over again. Occasionally he combined it with other moves, a long lick, a circle or two all the way around. He was, Daryl had to assume, being deliberately messy, and he could feel the wetness of saliva thick on and around his pucker.

“Rick,” he said, his voice cracking in the middle with need. And his boyfriend stopped, emerging from beneath the skirt, his short waves damp and messy with sweat. He made a show of wiping his mouth with his wrist.

“You need somethin?” Rick asked, looking more than a little pleased with himself.

“Please,” Daryl said, and Rick stroked and squeezed his thigh reassuringly.

“Slide that cup over here,” he said, nodding toward the corner of Daryl’s desk. Tucked there against the wall was a stolen cup from the dining hall stuffed with pens and pencils.

“Rick,” Daryl said nervously, but he was already sliding the cup his way. Rick picked it up and tilted it so he could peer inside. Daryl watched him finger through all the different writing tools, his chest heaving, and then Rick pulled out the largest thing he had, a black permanent marker with a fat gray body and a jet black lid. He didn’t have to ask to know what Rick intended to do with it.

Rick pulled the lid off first, pushing the hem of the skirt up to the very top of Daryl’s thigh.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and Daryl did. The large chiseled tip of the marker dragged across his skin in long, deliberate strokes. Rick took his time, moving it slowly across the flesh. Behind every drag, Daryl could feel a small wash of cool before the ink dried. He waited until he heard Rick pop the cap back on to open his eyes.

Across his thigh in large black letters, he’d written one word: mine. And Daryl’s only thought was ‘goddamn right.’ He looked at Rick, two identical pairs of intense blue eyes locked on each other. Slowly, a smile creeping into his irises, Rick brought the marker close to his lips. He stuck his tongue out at Daryl, showing him a tongue curled around a well of saliva, and then he pursed his lips and let it dribble onto the grey shaft of the marker where he spread it around with his lips.

And Daryl thought it was probably a small miracle that he didn’t cum instantly.

Rick kept his eyes on him, breaking contact only to maneuver his arm under the hem of Daryl’s dress without wiping off any of his makeshift lube. The smooth back end of the marker pressed against Daryl’s hole and Rick slowly and carefully eased it inside. The moment it was in, Daryl started wiggling, subtly trying to grind out any pleasure he could from the small bit of plastic.

Rick offered little help at first, leaving the marker stationary while he adjusted the skirt so that he could see his work, leaving everything below Daryl’s waist exposed except for his cock, still hidden in folds of thick fabric.

“Do you want me to fuck you with this, Daryl?” Rick asked, nudging the marker with his thumb. Daryl nodded enthusiastically.

“Please.”

Rick palmed over his own erection briefly before sliding the marker out nearly all the way. He eased it back in, gripping the cap with his fingers so he could tilt it, forcing it in at a slight angle.

“That feel right?” he asked.

“No,” Daryl said, and he tilted it more. The two of them worked together, making tiny adjustments through questioning eyes and shaking heads until the marker was in the perfect position to slide right over Daryl’s sweet spot with each push-pull Rick made, slowly building pressure that made Daryl want to fall back on the desk and rub one out through the fabric of his costume.

“You ready for more?” Rick asked.

“Yes,” Daryl spat out hastily, fully expecting that to lead immediately to his favorite activity: having Rick’s cock buried to the hilt in his ass. Rick stood up and left the marker inside of him, walking over to Daryl’s bed and reaching for the shoebox underneath. He flipped it open and grabbed a bottle of lube.

Daryl swallowed, waiting for the moment when Rick undid his jeans and he got to glimpse his erection.

But Rick didn’t do that. Instead he sat back down and reached for Daryl’s pen cup. Daryl whimpered.

“Easy,” Rick said, selecting two more permanent markers. They were regular sized, hardly wider than one of Daryl’s pinkies. Rick slathered them up with lube and inserted them one after the other, pausing in between to give Daryl a few quick thrusts.

Rick spent a while fucking him with all three markers, and Daryl thought surely that would be it. Surely it was time for a good, hard fuck. _Surely_ Rick couldn’t possibly make himself wait any longer.

But he pulled the pen cup back to him. More markers and a couple of smooth pens emblazoned with their college logo came out of the cup. More lube, more stuffing. Somewhere in there Daryl gave up on leaning on his arms, easing the back of his shoulders onto the wall for support instead. Then the process continued, until Rick had used everything in the cup that didn’t look too dangerous to stuff up Daryl’s ass. When he was done, and when Daryl was sure he was going to die, he leaned back in the chair, admiring his handiwork.

“You should see this too,” he said, getting up and walking over to their sinks. He opened the cabinet beneath his, fishing around for a tiny hand mirror that he brought over, holding it so that Daryl could glimpse the entire office supply store currently occupying his hole. It was like a goddamn Staples down there.

“Fourteen,” Rick said. “I counted.”

“You’re disgusting,” Daryl said, unable to hide the admiration in his voice when he said it. Rick smiled and tossed the mirror onto his bed and sat down. He made quick work of removing them all, throwing them back in the cup and promising Daryl he’d be the one who washed all the lube and filth off them later. When his hole was finally empty, Rick stood up and reached for the button of his jeans. 

"Wait," Daryl said, grabbing a slicked up marker from inside his cup. Rick's eyebrows knitted together for a moment before comprehension dawned on him. He stepped up to the desk and raised his plaid shirt up to expose a bit of his stomach. Letting his feet drop off the side, Daryl leaned up and scribbled the word "mine" across his skin in red ink before capping the marker and dropping it back in the cup. Rick looked at it and smiled, then undid his pants. 

Daryl practically sighed in relief at the sight of his erection, precum beaded in the slit.

“Want that,” he said, and Rick knew enough about his boyfriend to know exactly what Daryl meant. He rubbed his thumb through the milky bead and smeared it across his boyfriend’s lips. Lube came next, stroked onto Rick’s cock with a few aggressive tugs.

Finally pushing the skirt up past Daryl’s erection, he lined himself up and slid inside. Daryl’s head thunked back against the thin drywall. It didn’t take long for Rick to build a rhythm, pumping in and out of him until the desk started thwacking gently against the wall behind it. Daryl pulled a foot back up for leverage, using it to grind his body into Rick’s every motion.

His upper body felt like a furnace, his skin growing hotter and hotter by the second.

“Rick,” he panted. “Dyin here.”

“Hmm?” Rick asked, his eyes closed. He was lost inside of Daryl’s heat.

“Need outta this thing,” Daryl choked out, even as Rick grabbed hold of him, thinking that Daryl’s words were an expression of his need to finish.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, letting go of Daryl’s erection instantly. He pulled out, dragging Daryl off the desk by his hips. Rotating them both to the side so that Daryl could lean over the desk long-ways, Rick undid the zipper down his back, pushing the garment off his shoulders and arms until the dress became nothing but a swath of vaguely purple fabric gathered around his waist.

“How the hell did you get that thing done up on your own?” Rick asked, sounding impressed even as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Flexible,” Daryl said. “Thought you knew that.”

“Shutup,” Rick teased, pressing his cheek down against the wood and pushing back inside of him. Daryl sighed, both at the feeling of being filled once more and at the sensation of the cool wood against his cheek. He pushed back with fervor, his head turning every direction as he neared his release, its movement eased by the sweat across his forehead.

Rick found his erection again with his hand, stroking it while he pumped in and out of his ass, a surefire sign that he was close too.

“Fuck,” Daryl groaned quietly. “Rick.”

“When?”

“Bout now.” Daryl grunted.

Rick let go of him, tugging some of the dress fabric down to catch Daryl's cum. 

“Whenever you want,” Rick said, dipping his head to nip at the nape of Daryl’s neck. Daryl groaned at the feeling of his lover’s teeth, and then he groaned in general, pressing his mouth against the desk to muffle the sound of his orgasm as he shot streams of cum into the fabric.

“Gorgeous,” Rick muttered appreciatively, pulling out as soon as he’d milked every last drop from him. “Turn around.” Daryl did as he asked, leaning back against his desk to stay upright on his trembling knees. Being fucked by Rick Grimes always made him feel like a baby animal struggling to stand for the first time.

He waited for further instruction, for Rick to ask him to kneel so he could jizz all over his face or in his mouth. Instead he gathered a handful of the dress in his hand and furiously jerked himself off until he came with a gruff moan. Then he let the whole thing go, tugging it back down Daryl’s legs so that it became a skirt once more. Cum stains streaked the entire front, and Rick smiled at them in satisfaction.

“Can I take it off now?” Daryl asked, looking at himself in the mirrored closet, bare from the waist up with the sleeves and top of the garment rolled up around his middle.

“Of course,” Rick said, helping him work it off his body. When Daryl was completely naked, Rick peppered his lips and chest with kisses, hugging him tight around the middle. “I love you, Daryl.”

“I know,” he said. “Love you too.”

“More than I ever could have loved him,” Rick added. “He’s gonna stop talkin about my high school crush on him or I’ll kill him, but you need to know that. Even if he had woken up to what he wanted soon enough for us to have had a fling, that’s all it would have been. You and I are...” Rick shook his head, struggling to find the words that he didn’t need to find, because Daryl already knew.

He and Rick were a fundamental law of nature, something that felt too large and too permanent for a couple of college boys. But it was.

“More,” Rick finally finished, the word not holding nearly the gravity of what they actually felt.

“I know,” Daryl said, leaning his head onto Rick’s shoulder and nuzzling. He could feel his warm skin even through his plaid shirt. Fingers found his chin, pulling it up so Rick could kiss him, slow and gentle as a spring rain.

“We should change and take that back to Shane,” he suggested.

Daryl nodded, and they did, rinsing off together in a cool shower and stuffing the thing into the black garment bag without even bothering to put it on the hanger.

They met Shane in the dining hall a short while after, already sitting at their usual table with a plate of pizza.

“Might wanna get that dry cleaned before you give it back,” Rick said, shoving it into his best friend’s chest with a smug smirk before walking off toward the buffet line. Shane made a face before putting it to the floor by his backpack.

“Can we be done now?” Daryl asked. “With all this shit?”

Shane chewed it over, both literally and figuratively, swallowing his bite and wiping his hand on his jeans before holding it out toward Daryl. He took it and gave it a firm shake before turning toward the grill station.

“Daryl,” Shane said, and he paused in his tracks. There was a long pause, and then Shane spoke quietly. “Sorry.”

Daryl nodded once without looking back and went to join his boyfriend.


End file.
